


quiet winter winds and the one who keeps me warm.

by aegious



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: ???????????????????????, M/M, [strained labored wheezing] hee..... hheee, im so fucking feral rn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 11:36:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20045353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aegious/pseuds/aegious
Summary: Thorvald's breath comes out in little white puffs. His cheeks are frozen where his scarf doesn’t quite cover. It’s truly a textbook Northmeiran winter, a dazzling wonderland that’s quiet and still and magical. There’s no sound except his own jagged breathing, no movement except the slight rustle of trees. The snow is an unbroken blanket of white that only he can mar with his heavy footfalls.This is his home, he thinks. This is Nagi’s home. A beautiful land fit for a beautiful prince.





	quiet winter winds and the one who keeps me warm.

**Author's Note:**

> just take it just fuckign take it i'm so emotionally compromised right now

Thorvald holds his bag close to his chest as he rushes through the park. It’s quiet tonight, except for the crunch of his boots in the deep winter snow. Perhaps, he thinks belatedly, a shortcut through the park was not the best idea. He’s pretty sure he would already be there by now if he hadn’t decided to dredge through the snow.

But it’s hard to think logically tonight.

The charms on his bag jingle as they bump into each other. There aren’t many—it would ruin his appearance of professionalism—but he does keep a few dangling off of zippers. They’re small enough that they’re inconspicuous, and he can get away with it if he doesn’t show them off.

The acrylic Nagis clack against each other, various poses and expressions drawn in cute cartoony styles. One single Kokona charm rests nestled within the bundle of Nagis—a gift from him a few years back. His greatest treasure.

His breath comes out in little white puffs. His cheeks are frozen where his scarf doesn’t quite cover. It’s truly a textbook Northmeiran winter, a dazzling wonderland that’s quiet and still and magical. There’s no sound except his own jagged breathing, no movement except the slight rustle of trees. The snow is an unbroken blanket of white that only he can mar with his heavy footfalls.

This is his home, he thinks. This is Nagi’s home. A beautiful land fit for a beautiful prince.

And still he ran off to Japan.

His steps falter slightly and he almost stumbles, catching himself just before he loses footing and finally slowing to a stop. It would be too embarrassing to fall now. Not when he has somewhere to be and someone to meet.

At some point, the snow had begun falling again. Thorvald lifts his face to the sky and sees nothing but a sea of black through little patches between the thick trees. Tiny white lights millions of light years away from them twinkle faintly, as if beckoning him further along. The night makes the world colder, but the cold is nothing more than an afterthought to him. A minor inconvenience at worst.

He takes a few more steps forward.

The bridge at the edge of the park is one of Nagi’s favorite places. It overlooks the whole park on one side, the city on the other. It’s like he can see all of Northmeir—the urban and the natural—from it.

Thorvald lowers his gaze. Nagi isn’t in the sky, after all. There’s no point in looking up there.

The bridge is just in front of him, the toe of his boot nudging against the break in the path where it begins. His breath hitches, the puffs of white cleared from his vision, when he sees a dark silhouette leaning against the rail. He’s facing away from him, and so Thorvald takes this selfish moment to stare.

Though layers of coats hide his figure and a scarf wraps around his head, Thorvald knows his prince anywhere. There’s no way he wouldn’t. No one knows him so well. And the little tufts of blond hair that just barely peep out from under the scarf confirm what he already knows.

“Prince Nagi,” he calls out, his voice threading between snowflakes as it makes its way across to him. “Why did you call me here?”

Nagi doesn’t respond at first, and Thorvald thinks that perhaps his words didn’t reach him. His chest tightens uncomfortably, and he hugs his bag tighter to him, the charms rattling with the movement.

Then Nagi turns his head, and even in the dark Thorvald can see those striking blue eyes that will forever brand him to the royal family, even after he casts away his name and rank. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

He can’t. Even if he wants to, he can’t. Even if Nagi renounced his title, even if Nagi were nothing more than a commoner from the very beginning. He wants to say this, tell him all the thoughts and feelings that pool deep in his gut until he feels he can’t breathe. “My apologies,” he says instead.

Nagi rolls his eyes, but it’s good-natured. Thorvald feels privileged enough to take a step forward, and then another when Nagi holds out his hand. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

The feelings flood his body until they blur his vision, his lungs filled with unbearable emotion as his legs step forward without any conscious effort. His body is hot even if the frigid air lashes against his skin and seeps through his clothes as if he’s wading through arctic waters.

“What—” He clears his throat. “What did you want to show me?”

“Closer.”

Thorvald moves forward as if pulled by a string, a marionette dancing only for Nagi. He doesn’t trust himself to get too close, and yet Nagi draws him in closer, closer, until he can feel his breath on his nose.

They’re too close, is the only thought Thorvald can muster. The proximity is unacceptable. He shouldn’t—he can’t—

Nagi puts his hand on Thorvald’s shoulder and cuts off any half-baked thought forming in his mind. He jumps, heart beating so fast he’s sure it’s going to leap out of his chest. His cheeks flood with color, not just from the winter wind.

He looks at Nagi, bites his lip at the sight of his eyes, his hair, his cheeks. The mouth hidden just behind that soft cashmere scarf. “What are you…?”

Nagi pulls his scarf down and finally shows his entire face. He’s not looking at Thorvald; he doesn’t see what he’s doing to him. He points at the sky. “Look.”

It’s a monumental effort to tear his gaze from Nagi, but if his prince willed it he would move a mountain. He looks back to the sea of black above them to find that it’s not quite so dark anymore.

“The aurora is shining tonight,” Nagi says, and Thorvald can hear the smile in his voice. “I haven’t seen it in so long.”

“Did you miss it?” _Did you miss me?_

“Yes.” His eyes follow the patterns in the sky, the soft greens just barely visible above the treetops. “You can’t see this in Japan.”

Thorvald is too conscious of the hand still resting gently on his shoulder, keeping him rooted in place next to him. Their hips are touching. He glances back down and finds himself taken by the sight of Nagi once more.

“I have two homes,” Nagi says, and Thorvald can’t help but stare at the delicate shapes his mouth forms around the words. He makes the Northmeiran language sound so beautiful, like a song. Quite fitting for an idol. “Northmeir will always be one of them.”

“You should come home,” he says without thinking. “We miss you.” He doesn’t specify that _we_ actually means _he._

“My second home is Japan. I will not abandon it.” His jaw sets firmly. Thorvald swallows.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks. His voice comes out quiet, meek.

“I wanted to thank you,” Nagi starts, and finally looks away from the aurora above them. Their eyes lock. “For giving me a home in Northmeir after I left. I’m proud to call it my home.”

Nagi’s hands tighten on his shoulder, and the snowfall seems to float in midair as time stops around them. Thorvald’s bag drops to the ground, forming a deep indent in the white blanket under their feet.

The Northmeiran aurora watches them fondly as Nagi closes what little space is left between them, cold lips brushing against Thorvald’s. His body is warm even in the dead of winter, with snow all around them and their breaths mingling in identical white puffs.

When Nagi pulls away Thorvald finds himself chasing after him, as he always has and as he always will. Because he would go to the ends of the Earth for his prince, no matter where he goes and no matter what he calls himself.

It’s a shame he can’t feel the skin of Nagi’s thumb as he rubs his gloved hand across Thorvald’s cheek, over his lips, but he knows it’s there. This is the real Nagi. Not his dreams or fantasies.

And this real Nagi, he thinks, is worth more than all the merchandise in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> wheezes softly please follow me on [@aegious](http://twitter.com/aegious) where i talk about rarepairs no one except for like 2 other people care about


End file.
